Franc Grams - Classic lyrics

rate me

I'm tryna give 'em back that soul shit

That shit that make 'em be like oh shit

Talks the pain to make them see they in a lone shit

That Friday night can't do it so stay at home shit

Plottin' how to get a dollar, sick of being broke shit

Get by hit the club, shit, get the party tickin' with these bitches

And I can't even buy what they sippin'

And let alone the dress code, cause I ain't got no fresh clothes

Unemployment checks? Don't even be enough to check those

It's exaggerating

Those $200 checks were mad amazing

Every Tuesday I was glad the came in

Now, you think it was a G-note

Cause I was makin' mad arrangements

Broke Friday, every weekend wish that I had saved it

Cause when the homies hit my phone like what we doin'

Ain't thinkin' of no plans, I was makin' up excuses

Never did I think of being there, the shit was useless

These niggas throwin' bands, I can't compare, feelin' stupid

Used to cope like this rap money be comin' soon, I hope

Get the deal done, I been doin' this a while, you know?

And I love it, so it's nothin', I'm back to writin' this dope

Like I noticed the one I promised it's gonna blow

Watch her, been saying that forever, it's forever

But now I know it's different, been gettin' my shit together

Plus, when these niggas listen, they admit my shit is betta

A lil' more realer, a lil' more clever

They sick of hearin' gun tales and niggas singin' fuck jail

And the same stories bout niggas making them drug sales

These niggas so predictable and sick to when you listen to

I tune up to the interview, like nigga nah that isn't you

Frank Grams